


Julys and Other Dry Things

by destielfolk1234



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Letter, Love, M/M, Mailroom!Cas, One Shot, destiel au, m/m - Freeform, motorcyle!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielfolk1234/pseuds/destielfolk1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met in July, they got married in July. July was very important to Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Julys and Other Dry Things

**Author's Note:**

> I'm truly not sorry for this.

Dean,  
We met in July. It could have been the worst month that year, too much heat, not enough water. It was the middle of summer. I was an office boy and you had a motorcycle. You had an unpaid speeding ticket, and my father was trying to get it waived for you. A low profile case for him, but I try not to question it. I was there because my father said I needed to learn the value of a dollar, even if I didn't ever ask him for a penny. It doesn't matter though, because I got you out of it.

The first time I saw you was because my father was never good at closing doors. I was riding the mail cart down the hall like a kid in a grocery store. I caught you in the corner of my eye. You were the most attractive man I had ever met and you smiled at me. I obviously crashed the cart into a wall after that and my dad came out to investigate. The first time you truly met me I was covered in a pile of legal envelopes and my father was yelling at me. You were in a white button down and the best cologne I have ever smelled.

If I'm being completely honest with you, I didn't expect the motorcycle. The sandy blonde hair and the nice clothes gave me the 'rich kid caught shoplifting' vibe, not the 'I got a speeding ticket because I can't control my throttle' vibe. I didn't know then that those clothes were from Walmart and you were speeding to get to work to feed your little brother. Anyway, my father introduced us because he thought we'd know each other. I'm not sure why, and I am SURE he didn't know what he was starting. If he had, he would have never let you into his firm.

You took me on a ride once. Well, you took me on a ride thousands of times, but this time was different. You drove as fast as you could, no regards for the speed limit, not thinking about the wind hitting my face like concrete from over your shoulder. I made you pull over and I hit you in the middle of the chest. Not hard, just hard enough to get my point across. There was something going on with you, and you wouldn't tell me. To this day, you still haven't REALLY told me why you were so distracted that day. You haven't told me why you needed to drop me off so quickly, but by this point, I was nineteen, you were twenty-three, and looking back on it now, I know exactly what was wrong.

Twelve months later, when I was twenty, and you were twenty four, we got married in July. I'd tell you it was the happiest day of my life, but I'd be lying. It was hot, and I always hated the heat. But, I always loved you, and you loved the heat, so the heat came along with you. That's why, on our wedding day, I was super drunk. Champagne and fancy scotch were the only drinkable liquids I could find in the entire area, and you know how I feel about champagne. You've always said me being drunk that day didn't bother you. You said I'm cute when I'm drunk, that I talk a lot about bees. So, I'm just going to chalk it up on our wall of funny stories. I can't say it was the happiest day of my life, because I don't really remember, but I can say I Assume it was the happiest day of my life, and I'll probably be right.

I know you're wondering why I wrote you this letter. You know all of these things already. You were there. We'd always talk about these things when we felt like the room got too quiet. I'd use these stories to comfort you when it stormed, because big bad biker boy is afraid of the thunder. I made fun of you for it once, but you told me the boom reminded you of your father's voice before a 'storm.' I never brought it up again. So, if you're wondering why I'm writing these stories to you, I'm not. I'm writing these stories for me because you're gone. It was a motorcycle accident. You never stood a chance. We were married for three years before a tractor trailer decided to switch lanes when you were in his blind spot. He couldn't see you. He didn't mean it, but you got knocked down, and you went under the tires. The scene didn't look tragic. I mean, after they scooped you off the highway, anyway. There was scattered pieces of motorcycle because you could never hold your own against an eighteen-wheeler.

I'm writing this letter for the July's to come. I'm writing this letter because I need something to remind me of you. That old bottle of cologne is going to run out, sooner rather than later. I'm writing this for dry July's. You see, I don't need it in the winter, I don't need it when the summer isn't dry, because you were never wet. You were dry desert and cereal without milk and the one July when I was seventeen. The pain will only be unbearable when it's dry, so from now on, I'll seek comfort in the rain.

Love,  
Cas


End file.
